Instability
by scorpiaux
Summary: Katara's life as a subordinate slave in Azula's uranium factory changes when a new recruit arrives and shows her that disagreeing isn't always disobeying—though she's been forced into a sickening, degrading position. Kataang, AU, rated M, multichaptered.
1. Chapter 1

**Instability**

**Summary:**Katara's life as a subordinate slave in Azula's uranium factory takes a turn for the worst when a new recruit arrives and shows her that disagreeing isn't always disobeying. But can he honestly free her from the sickening, degrading position she's been forced into? Kataang, Multi Chaptered, AU, rated M.

**Author's Note: **I don't know what possessed me to change this fiction from the way it was, but here it is. I've been reading Silko's "Ceremony" recently, and these awesome images kept popping into my head of how to make this story better. So I went for it. No doubt, it's a little more adult-oriented than how it was before, but the plot has also lengthened considerably.

Without any further hesitations...

* * *

His hand stopped her from taking the bag of gold coins he had promised the night before. She looked at him—eyes glassy—and began to say something before he turned to his side and slid off the bed, still grabbing hold of her arm.

"What are you doing, Tribal girl?" he asked through heavy breaths, pulling her arm up, closer to him. She eyed him suspiciously and turned her face when he continued speaking. "I didn't even get a chance to learn your name," he said.

"Your loss," she replied, keeping her gaze downcast. He took the bag of coins off the nightstand and dangled them in front of her face.

"How much do you think is in here, baby?" When he spoke, his mouth sent a wave of wine-flavored air against her nose. It was warm and mixed with the dampness already prevalent in his room. She held firm and looked at the cloth pouch. "Take a guess."

"I don't know," she admitted lamely. He had shoved her near the nightstand now, letting her arm go to take hold of her lower back instead. His frame leaned into her; he coursed the ridge of his nose against her long, wavy hair and inhaled, as if committing the scent to memory.

She giggled because this was tickling her and because she wanted the pay he had promised. "What are you doing?"

He ordered vaguely, "Tell me your name, Water Tribe girl."

She frowned and put her hands on his shoulders, only because there was no where else to put them, and because she had learned what older men liked—what they felt when she was near them, and their reactions to her.

"On Ji," she said. He didn't know that this wasn't her real name. He didn't know that On Ji was a girl she had known years ago, who had died in a freak uranium accident—whose body, charred black and limbs bent to impossible positions, had landed only a few feet in front of the rest of the workers after the explosion. And to their horror, On Ji had twitched a little bit before that very same spark of life flickered out completely.

"That isn't your name," he returned, but he was quiet when he felt her hands work the buttons of his fly.

She whispered, "Yes it is," and the matter was settled there. Then her hands stopped and she looked up at his face—slackened with the effort of living and working and being near her. He had a dark shadow of stubble over his cheeks, where she could detect faint gray lines. He was some twenty years older than she was. And the thought of what she had done to him was sickening—but her morals had worn away a long time ago.

His dark eyes opened up a little more. "How much do I owe you, On Ji?"

He had bought it.

The girl shrugged and smirked at him—again, merely because this what she had learned had the best effects—and snaked her arms about his waist. "We settled at three hundred."

"Gold?"

"Yes."

He nodded more to himself and took the cloth pouch up again, sending his lips to her neck for a last minute rush. Her skin was frigid and shaky and unsure, and her spine stiffened when she felt the cool contact of his tongue brush up against her throat. He opened his mouth and put the faintest amount of pressure on his teeth, as if he wanted to swallow her whole. Then he unbuttoned her shirt and lowered his face. It was still dark outside, regardless of the fact that it was morning, and that the sun would be rising soon.

Morals had a tendency to wear away, but the awkward aftermath never left. She watched him do what he wanted and when the whole thing was over with, for the second or third time consecutively, she buttoned her shirt and took the pouch from him, only to find out some time later that he had given her a significant tip—possibly by accident.

"You'll be seeing me around a lot more," he muttered factually, taking out a cigarette. He stood shirtless, pants undone at the fly and long toes kneading the dirty carpet beneath him. And his eyes...they were savage brown color that the girl thought she would always remember.

She turned around and stood idly. "You never told me _your_ name," she said, smiling through the throbbing sensation between her legs.

"You didn't tell me your name either," he stated, grinning and observing her breasts from across the room. "Shit, Water Tribe girl. No one in those damn tribes is called 'On Ji.' What, do you think I was born _yesterday_?" He laughed bitterly and shook his head, turning up to meet her gaze. "Absolute shit. I was born years before you were."

This statement, for some reason, sent a considerable amount of color to her cheeks. She looked the other way and straightened her skirt. The man was probably old enough to be her father.

He was walking up to the girl with thick steps, striding over the empty boxes and crumpled paper and other various trash that littered his apartment. He was a good two heads taller than her with much paler skin. His fingers were rough when he sent them through her hair again.

"You've got some beautiful eyes, girl," he murmured, crashing his lips against her mouth. "I wish there was something I could do for you...so you wouldn't have to be doing this. Take you some place. But fuck. You were worth the three hundred, you know that?"

She stepped backwards—away from him—and turned the handle of the door. She eased out without saying anything. Then she paced away from his flat with her arms over her chest. She was only in this for the money. Or at least, that is what she told herself. There was no reason to take any extra help—even if offered. Most of the men who said this were delusional anyway, under the false impression that they were actually rich, when really, they were just as poor as the other workers were.

Besides, three hundred would leave her fed for at least another two weeks...then she would have to go back to Tsu's Bar and find another client. Of course, it's not like she had any trouble finding them. She was attractive and young and exotic and men naturally crowded in threes and fours to ask her name. But sometimes they refused to pay. And sometimes they were more intent on beating her rather than doing what she was supposed to be there for. Other times, those older men merely disgusted her, and when they kissed her and touched her she felt as though she was lowering her standards again—lowering them more than they already were...which, all things considered, was pretty low at the present.

* * *

Her brother was still oblivious to where she was getting the money that was feeding them. He had had strict views about her friend Jun since the beginning. He had known Jun's kind of work. And he had suspected something when his baby sister had returned home late one night two years ago, clothes damp and reeking of wine and smoke and blood, hair matted down, eyes dim. He had searched her face and asked her what she had been doing. She had sobbed quietly until she fell asleep.

Returning to the factory before sunrise was always a priority, because usually her brother was up before then. She slipped through the back doors and removed her shoes and tiptoed back to her slim mattress, putting the full cloth sac underneath her ridiculous excuse for a pillow. She tied her hair up and buried her face in her blanket. From the corner of her eye, she saw her brother stretch restlessly and turn to her.

He asked quietly, face tight against the milky darkness of the warehouse, "Where were you?"

She blinked and didn't answer.

"Katara," he pressed, pushing his weight on one elbow. "Answer me. Where were you?"

His sister groaned audibly and wrinkled her nose, the smell of the factory taking a toll on her senses. The uranium workers all slept on the ground floor—which was cold, and smelled of rotting meat and vomit and other dead things.

It was the kind of smell no one could ever grow used to.

"I feel like shit," she whispered back, looking at the low ceiling and refusing to face him. "But we can buy something good tomorrow. I've got three hundred and fifty in gold."

She didn't see it, but her brother's eyes grew wide.

"_What_?"

"I know. It's not much...and everything's expensive. But the warden will let us leave tomorrow...at least, for a little while...just to get food." She turned to him and smiled pathetically. He noted that there were distinct bags under her eyes.

His voice was low and hollow—it echoed in her skull and pulled her regrets to optimal volumes. "Katara," he groaned, because he was ashamed and disgusted, "you shouldn't be doing this."

"What other choice do I have?" she replied fiercely. "What other choice do _we_have?" Then she pulled her blanket over her face and stared into it—thin thread and even thinner cloth, fraying at the edges. "God, Sokka. It's easy for you to see me go through it. It's not your body." Her voice was trembling now—on the verge of tears or an enraged outburst. He saw the outline of her hands flash up to her eyes underneath the blanket. "I _hate_ this," she informed, trying hard to control her tone. "I _hate _it. But what options are left? Tell me, for God's sake, so I know. Then I'll stop. When we get out of this fucking factory and go back home. When we don't need the money anymore."

"Katara—"

"You know as well as I do that the shit they're feeding us here is fused with something," she interrupted bitterly. "And you know all of the workers here, who are my age, at least, are doing the same thing to survive."

She peeked up from under the covers and looked at him. Sokka was observing her in a strange manner—his eyes deep and confused, looking for evidence that his sister didn't sleep with Earth Kingdom workers for money. That his sister wasn't a prostitute like that bitch Jun. But it was all too clear for him, and the shame settled into his chest and made his fists tighten without consent. Everything had changed when the Fire Nation had brought them here five years ago, when Katara was only twelve and him only fourteen. Now things were more complex. Filthier—full of lying and hate and starvation.

He fell back on his mattress and said nothing. He couldn't lie to himself and say that his sister was the only one. Once he had taken her money and spent it on a prostitute from the Earth Kingdom down at Tsu's Bar, as a few of his friends were doing the same. He remembered Katara's face had paled up and she had cried for days over the two hundred gold pieces that "someone stole."

But...this was his _sister_.

And she was only seventeen—too young to be doing this—too innocent to _have_ _done _it.

"New workers tomorrow," Katara said, in an effort to change the subject and end the conversation and pull him out of whatever thoughts he was thinking about her. "From the Air Temples," she continued, "...or, whatever's left of them."

Sokka clenched and unclenched his fists to control the temper that was beating inside of him. New workers meant less pay. "I was sure that last attack killed them off," he answered.

"Everyone thought that," his sister affirmed, yawning. "I mean...even if they bring anyone, they'll probably be all cancerous from the radiation."

"You mean like half the workers here?"

"Sokka!" She threw her pillow at him, her voice growing stern and low. "Don't talk like that in front of me, for God's sake! No one here has cancer."

Sokka shrugged this off and waved dismissively. "We work with uranium on a daily basis," he said. "And you said it yourself—that shit they're feeding us must have something in it too."

"We're not going back to that conversation," she ordered furiously. "I'm going to sleep."

"Katara, we need to be up in an hour," he pointed out, crossing his arms. "Good night."

She blinked and shrugged herself deeper into the mattress. Her face was wet from the drizzling outside and from the musty pillow Sokka had handed back to her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something distant. "Good morning," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Instability**

**Summary:**Katara's life as a subordinate slave in Azula's uranium factory takes a turn for the worst when a new recruit arrives and shows her that disagreeing isn't always disobeying. But can he honestly free her from the sickening, degrading position she's been forced into? Kataang, Multi Chaptered, AU, rated M.

**Author's Note**: I apologize for the wait, and the shortness of this chapter, and the bad writing. I need to get my life back, as well as my muse.

I hope you all enjoy regardless.

* * *

Sometimes she had nightmares about the men she had slept with. The men were countless because—though she hadn't slept with too many—Katara had stopped counting after the first one. She did not consider this to be love-making. It was merely sex for money, which—according to her and Jun—was an entirely different thing.

But the last man...he was different. In the nightmare that plagued her that morning, his face was defined and dark, his frame heavy and muscular. He dangled coin bags in her face and demanded to know her real name. It was a terrible thing to fall under.  
Exhausted, Katara woke up a little later that morning with dark circles under her eye lids.

"Warden wants us in the main building," Sokka explained when he noticed she was awake. "You remember those new recruits you told me about?"

Katara rolled out of her low mattress and covered her eyes with the open expanse of her palms. "She wants us to meet them," she murmured.

Sokka pulled on his worn, black boots—the very same each worker, male or female, had to wear when working the machinery. "Yeah. Training assignments go out today."

"Oh, goody."

"You should start getting dressed," Sokka warned, tucking his pant legs into the boots. "The earlier we go, the better assignment we'll get. Assignments count for twenty gold pieces, you know."

Katara nodded dismissively and pulled on her cumbersome cloth pants and tight long sleeved working blouse. She was perhaps the only female worker to make said working blouse look attractive—it was a little small for her and the effect made it look like a decent top from far away. And then, of course, the boots. _Small is to blouse as huge is to boots_, Katara thought, smiling slightly to herself as she tucked in her pant legs.

They walked soundlessly to the main building, which was an empty room covered in large, opaque windows. There were quite a few arrivals and alongside them, various guards. Katara noticed dimly, as she walked among the crowd of Water Tribe workers, that the warden wasn't here. Then again, the warden never appeared at these ceremonies. She preferred the safe-haven of her office on the top floor.

There were a few loud screeches and beeps and then...

"I expect Uranium Workers to cooperate with these new arrivals," a voice over the intercom started. "Hesitations or careless mistakes will not be tolerated. If our new arrivals have any questions about previous mishaps," the voice informed icily, "we'll be sure to clue them in."

There were five new arrivals assigned to the sector of the factory in which Water Tribe members worked. After all, it was a very delicate and intricate system. Water Tribe men were usually stronger than Earth Kingdom men—likewise, Earth Kingdom women were stronger than Water Tribe women. Work was divided in such a way to ensure that the Uranium Capsules were completed correctly, and on time.

The warden, however, refused to mention from what part of the world these four new members were from. And Katara, who was tired and sick of the disgusting smell of the main building, didn't pay much attention anyway.

"We will call out your numbers now," the voice said. "Guard Hoa Bing will assign you. Assignments count for fifteen gold pieces."

"Absolute shit," muttered Sokka.

There was a brief hesitation, in which the workers heard the warden breathe in heavily, as if in thought. "Hesitations or careless mistakes will not be tolerated," she repeated, and then the intercom went still after another series of beeps and screeches.

"Worker SWT-125," Bing started. A thin boy named Kominu looked up. "You will be assigned worker SAT-1," the guard said, and pointed to a pale, elderly man with a thick beard and mustache. The man was pried away from the boy he was next to, and then guards led both him and Kominu back to the work stations.

"Workers SWT-418, SWT-508, and NWT-232." The guard pointed to another group of young boys, similar to Kominu in physical characteristics. "You will be assigned workers SAT-2 through SAT-4, respectively." Again the old men were ripped away from that same younger boy, who had started to protest until a guard glared at him and shoved his spear near the boy's throat. The boy settled down as the old men were taken away. He was the only one of the arrivals with his hands tied behind his back.

"Worker SWT-909," Bing stated loudly, his voice echoing throughout the main building.

Sokka looked at his sister and made a face. He whispered crossly, "That's you," before looking at the guard again.

Certainly there had been a mistake.

Katara glanced in Bing's direction as well, to see if she'd heard wrong. Usually, women were not permitted to hold assignments, and this new turn of events could have been a trap set up by the warden, or a genuine designation. Bing's eyes were locked on Katara.

"Worker SWT-909," Bing roared, pointing to her, as the guards were required to memorize the workers' numbers and faces. Katara jumped a little bit and then stepped forward, away from her brother.

"You will be assigned SAT-5," he said, grabbing the boy's shoulder and pushing him towards her.

Katara looked at the boy, who frowned decisively at her, before glancing back at the guard. The collection of Water Tribe workers behind her grew silent. "But," Katara started, "Mister Hoa Bing...I'm sure that..."

"Hesitations will not be tolerated," Bing finished, shoving the boy even closer to her. Embarrassingly enough, his nose stopped inches in front of Katara's breasts this time—close enough to smell the essence of crude oil and flavored tobacco that usually graced her skin and clothes. Katara breathed in quickly and took a step back, glancing over her shoulder to find Sokka.

"Yes sir," Sokka answered for her, taking his sister's arm and ignoring this blatantly sexual maneuver. "We'll train this new kid nice and good! Won't we, Katara?"

"Shut it," the guard muttered.

Katara touched the new arrival's shoulder and led him away. The boy's face, meanwhile, was still pink from their near-collision. Sokka walked behind his sister protectively and glanced back in Bing's direction.

"He's expected to be working by next week" Bing hissed, grimacing. "SWT-909, he's your responsibility now. Not your shit-faced brother."

"Of course," Katara returned without looking back.

There was a strange mix of sensations within the trio now. Katara didn't look at either one of the males walking with her and the males—conversely—looked at the floor. It was deep into the morning now and the feeling of this new day was sticky and slabbed. Katara felt exhausted from the previous night and hoped that—by some twist of fate, or perhaps something greater—this new arrival would be reassigned to a different working location. Fifteen gold pieces wasn't worth the headache or the trouble. Besides, Katara could make ten times as much when she wanted to.

_That nightmare_, she thought suddenly to herself. _I'm going to have a hard time forgetting it._

When they were back in the bottom floor of the warehouse, the boy examined his surroundings with a disgusted and fierce air. He searched Katara and Sokka's faces individually before sitting down on Katara's mattress.

Sokka frowned decisively. "Hey—"

"It's fine," Katara answered, waving him off. She bent to the boy's level. "That's my mattress," she informed slowly, speaking with acute clarity. "It's okay if you sit on it for now, but we'll need to get you a new one from the warden when you want to go to sleep tonight."

The boy blinked his large, gray eyes and nodded to himself. Katara could see that his face was relatively dirty—soot and other such dark deposits made his cheekbones shine with an unnatural hue. His mouth was tight.

"You got a name, SAT-5?" Sokka asked, removing his boots.

"Aang," the new arrival stated, choking a little bit on the word. "What's your name?"

"Sokka."

"Not you," Aang replied huskily. Sokka noticed that the boy's eyes were fixated on Katara. "_You_. What's your name?"

"That's my sister," Sokka answered for her, as Katara seemed to be daydreaming, or doing something else of the sort. Her eyes were distant. She was standing some feet away from her own mattress, looking at the ceiling.

"Katara," the female answered softly without turning.

Aang nodded, again to himself, and said nothing more. He also seemed consumed in some distant thought or musing—his face was shallow and drained. Sokka, the most awake of the three, placed his boots in front of Aang.

"You can wear those," the older boy said, "when my sister starts teaching you things today. You can take my place." Then Sokka smiled broadly and placed his hands behind his neck. "Good thing, too. Just when I was getting sick of uranium, the universe sends me a fill-in—along with twenty gold pieces!"

"Fifteen," Katara mumbled indifferently, turning around. She pointed to Sokka's boots. "You'll need those," she said to Aang. "The boots you have on right now are too thin, and we're working with dangerous chemicals."

"Okay," Aang agreed, already undressing his feet. "When are we done?"

"When the warden decides," Katara answered, wiping her eyes and yawning.

Under any other circumstances, she would have been fascinated by the human form now sitting on her mattress—there was a distinct air about him that seemed to set him apart from the other human forms she knew. Yet Katara, as stated before, was too tired to think properly. And, while Aang was still remembering their nose-to-breast encounter, Katara was dwelling on the nightmare that had plagued her earlier that day.

They walked together into the factory, leaving Sokka to his rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Instability**

**Summary**:Katara's life as a subordinate slave for Azula's Uranium factory takes a turn for the worst when a new recruit arrives, and shows her that disagreeing isn't necessarily disobeying. Kataang, Tokka, Multi Chaptered, AU, rated M.

**Author's Note**: Some age changes. Katara is still 17 (hopefully you all remember that from chapter one!) but Aang is only one year to six months younger.

I thank you all for your wonderful reviews and regret that I haven't been able to reply to most of them...however, I am certain that all my readers know that I value their input even more than I value my own.

Happy reading, you lovely brains, you!

-scorpiaux

* * *

She gave him a pair of latex gloves and showed him how to spread the powder on the conveyor belts into small, plastic tablets. She explained to him with an acute briefness that these were called Uranium Capsules. But, other than some encouraging nods or disgruntled frowns when appropriate, they said very little to each other.

Perhaps part of the silence was that Aang felt tired and filthy with himself for being here. Another part of him wondered what had happened to the four elders...what had happened to Gyatso, most importantly, and if the horrible guards in this factory were treating the elders with respect and gentleness.

"You're missing the tablets," Katara warned, nudging his side with her elbow as she worked. "Get your head into this, kid. If you mess up, they'll come after me. And that's the last thing I need right now."

"Right," he returned with a sincere genuineness, shaking his head. "Sorry."

He saw Katara watching him from the corner of her eyes.

There was a peacefulness in this girl that Aang couldn't help but notice—it was in her voice, in her movements, in her very mannerisms that he had only been exposed to for a number of hours. She worked with a strange aura of meditation about her...a certain air of calm that seemed quite familiar to Aang. It reminded him, in part, of Gyatso.

But he still did not know her well enough and, therefore, he didn't speak of his four elders, or the other worries that were burrowed in his heart.

"You just missed another one," she observed, frowning. "What's your name again?"

"Aang," he replied, clumsily stuffing powder into a small tablet. He found it strange that she could forget so easily—he had already committed her name and scent and relative breast size to memory. "Sorry," he repeated in reference to his sloppy fingers. "It's just that I'm not used to this, Katara."

Her back appeared to stiffen when he said her name.

He continued with somewhat of a foolish grin, "But, I'll get the hang of it eventually."

"Hopefully."

This seemed to settle into a mutual conversation piece between them. And Aang, who didn't fancy to think of what had happened to his four elders, continued with the intention of talking to this girl to forget the things that had already happened to him in this short length of time.

"How long have you been here, Katara?" he asked her, amused to find that she—again—paused a little when her name escaped his lips.

"Some five years," she replied, hesitating. This answer seemed to shock him, but he continued working anyway, keeping his eyes on the tablets before them. "It was hard at first," she added, "but, we got used to it."

"You and your brother, you mean."

"Yes."

"He seems like a nice type of person."

"...Yes. You will like him—at least, in the amount of time you will stay with us."

"I already like both of you," Aang said.

Katara's new arrival closed another capsule and placed in back on the belt, flicking his wrist a little bit so that the plastic tablet bounced and landed again.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," his companion murmured spitefully. And though she didn't mean for it to sound bitter, the effect of her comment lingered there with him. He placed the rest of his tablets on the belt as softly as he could, looking up at her each time he completed one.

"Do you like this factory, Katara?"

She responded immediately, "Just as much as I like hell," and noticed that he had finally grown used to fattening the tablets. He was actually working at a much faster pace than she was, darting his fingers with a delicate but mechanical ease through the ground chemicals. She felt a strange sensation of envy and amazement when she turned her gaze back to her own work.

"What?"

"What, 'what'?"

"You were looking at me," he stated, grinning a little broader than before. Then he turned to her and—to her astonishment—winked obnoxiously and nudged her side with his elbow. "See? I told you I'd get the hang of it."

Unaccustomed to flirtatious behavior, and uncertain as to what she should do in return, Katara continued working as a rush of warmth flooded her chest and face. She was reminded of her older male clients, and the various things they had done to her when alone. In complete honesty, she had never experienced anything as powerful—or as subtle—as Aang's gesture then, and she was confused as to how she should take it.

"Your hands are shaking," he pointed out suddenly, his voice gaining a softer, gentler quality. "Are you okay?"

She looked at her open palms to find that her fingers were—in fact—trembling without her consent. Aang was staring as if about to do something, and her tablets—as well as his—went down the belt as empty shells in a pile of would-be innards.

"I'll be fine," she managed, grabbing a handful of powder and diverting her gaze. "I mean—I...well, _this_..." She looked at her hands again, finding refuge in a lie. She stated lightheartedly, "No worries. This always happens, Aang. Result of the uranium, I guess."

"Oh," he said, though it was obvious that he didn't believe it for a minute.

Some time passed, and then Katara found that working alongside this new arrival was somewhat rewarding. Unlike when working with Sokka, there were always new things to talk about with Aang. He seemed like a well-rounded—though considerably foolish—kind of boy, and he made it apparent with his obnoxious flirting gestures that he liked her. Katara tried hard to avoid this, and when her hands started shaking, she would excuse it as faulty health. Then she would swear a damnation at her anatomy and her flighty heart for fancying this ridiculous mess of human.

A loud screeching noise on the intercom interrupted their tranquility. Katara's working space was but a small, dark room with a few chairs surrounding a conveyor belt and a square hole that passed for a window.

"SWT-909," a voice hissed over their groans, "This is your warden. I am requesting a hearing with you. Please leave worker SAT-5 with SWT-908 and come to my office _immediately_."

Katara, eyes widened now, dropped a half-finished tablet on the belt and blinked.

The voice cleared its throat and continued, "That is all," before leaving the chamber completely silent, with a ringing, bothersome echo.

"Shit," Katara spat with some difficulty. Her face was tight when she looked at Aang again. There was some sort of restless desperation in her eyes—in her manner now—that convinced him before she said it. "This is bad."

"I'll go with you," he offered. "Who is SWT-908, anyway?"

"Sokka—my brother." Oblivious to Aang's gawking, Katara slipped off her latex gloves and ran her fingers through her hair. "This is really, _really_ bad," she stated, more urgently this time. "What can the warden want with me?"

"Maybe she wants to reward you for working so hard," Aang murmured, shrugging. But he looked up when he heard a high-pitched, cynical laugh coming from Katara.

"You don't know what it's like here," she murmured back. "You don't get rewards—only punishments."

"Well," he replied regardless, "_I_ certainly think you're a good worker."

Katara threw the gloves away and gave Aang a sideways glance.

"You taught me all this, didn't you? And we had a good time. So, you're like a healthy balance of work ethic and the dialogue of a conversationalist."

"Okay," she said at the doorway, looking at his clumsy smile. "Thanks, Aang. I guess."

Aang nodded contently.

"I'll send my brother in." Then Katara grinned at him, which—had she seen it—sent shivers throughout his entire frame, worse than the shivers that had caused her hands to shake. She closed the door after whispering, "Wish me luck," with a barely audible breath.

In the darkness of this working chamber, Aang could sense his blood flowing to each limb with a furious quality. It was a very strange occurrence, but it pleased him nonetheless. There was something about his fellow worker that he had seen very little of after the war had started.

_Life_, Aang thought. _There's life in her. __It's just been muffled out. _He contemplated the meaning of life in regards to Katara as he filled a Uranium Capsule that would surely be used to kill an unsuspecting soul in the near future.


End file.
